


Protectors of the Realm

by CMRandles



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bondage, Loki is a kinky fuck in every conceivable universe, M/M, Medieval, One Shot, PWP, Tony needs rescuing, Voyeurism (kinda?), it came to me in a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9667286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMRandles/pseuds/CMRandles
Summary: Anthony is suspended from the ceiling by a length of rope wrapped around an exposed wooden beam. His body, lean and muscular, is stretched taut, swaying as he tries to keep his balance on the tips of his toes. His brown eyes are wide with panic, mouth pulled open by a thick leather strap employed as a gag. It is a sight so directly out of Steven’s own fantasy that for a moment he sways on his feet. A moan escapes him, but is lost in the sound of Anthony’s renewed struggle, no doubt full of hope for a rescue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had a dream last night and then THIS happened. I don't know. Blame the Doritos Locos Taco I ate before going to bed.

The sound of struggle coming from the cottage is unmistakable. Muffled cries, the noises of a body thrashing about. Steven knows he has found the right place. He does not hesitate, kicking in the door and drawing his sword. The sight that greets him, though, is not what he expects.

Anthony is suspended from the ceiling by a length of rope wrapped around an exposed wooden beam. His body, lean and muscular, is stretched taut, swaying as he tries to keep his balance on the tips of his toes. He is completely nude, every inch of tanned flesh visible by the summer light that makes it in through grimy windows. His brown eyes are wide with panic, mouth pulled open by a thick leather strap employed as a gag. It is a sight so directly out of Steven’s own fantasy that for a moment he sways on his feet. A moan escapes him, but is lost in the sound of Anthony’s renewed struggle, no doubt full of hope for a rescue.

Recovering himself, Steven takes up his sword, prepared to hack away at the rough bonds binding his fellow knight to the decrepit cottage. He rears back his powerful arms to swing and then a voice says:

“I wouldn’t do that.”

It comes from nowhere and everywhere. The voice could very well be in his own mind. Steven hesitates, sword still balanced in the air.

“That’s not the point of our little game.”

It is the Sorcerer speaking to him, the trickster, the one who Steven and Anthony together ran out of the realm not a fortnight ago. It seems perfectly obvious that he should be the one behind Anthony’s kidnap. Steven had been so distressed by the news of his fellow knight’s sudden disappearance that he had not stopped to consider who the blackguard responsible might be. The knowledge that it is the Sorcerer fills him with a shock of fear and an ocean of rage. He lowers his sword arm, meeting Anthony’s eyes with an unspoken apology.

“What is your aim then, trickster?” he demands.

The door to the cottage swings shut behind him with a creak and a BANG. Steven turns, expecting to see the Sorcerer standing in the shadows, but the room is empty. And very warm. He looks back at Anthony, straining, feet slipping on the dusty ground. Every muscle flexed. Exposed. His eyes are drawn to Anthony’s cock, flaccid and nestled in a dark nest of pubic hair. His own stomach clenches with a surge of desire followed swiftly by an swell of shame. His friend, his brother in arms, is in danger and all he can do is indulge his baser urges.

“I’m taking his gag off,” Steven announces, sliding his blade back into its sheath and reaching for the strap of leather in Anthony’s mouth. It comes away easily and the other man sighs, turning his head to spit.

“You have to go,” he says urgently, voice cracked. “Steven, he’ll kill us both.”

“Not without you.”

“Damn your pride, man!” Anthony shouts. His face, all angles and planes, is twisted in an expression Steven knows so well. He has seen his friend wear it in all of their other conflicts, too numerous to count. To see it now in this unfamiliar place while they are both in peril only strengthens his resolve.

“It’s no good arguing with me further,” Steven says, “you’ll only waste your breath.”

Anthony shakes his head furiously. “I would kick you, but my arms might tear off.”

“Tell us what you’re after, Sorcerer,” Steven tries again. He does not look at Anthony’s stomach muscles shifting as he tries to find a stable position. He does not see the glistening sweat in the hollow of that tan throat.

The room is getting hotter. This much he is sure of. Sweat is pooling beneath his arms, in the hollow of his back beneath his heavy leather armor.

The Sorcerer makes no reply.

“At least make yourself useful and find something for me to stand on,” Anthony demands.

Steven casts about. For naught but a pile of wreckage the interior is surprisingly tidy. Normally he would expect to find heaps of decrepit furniture, or at least kindling he could stack to make a kind of stool. But there is nothing suitable to the task. He speaks an oath under his breath and turns to share the bad news. He is sweltering now, cooking inside of his armor.

“You can remove your armor, sir knight. You won’t need it, I promise,” the Sorcerer says, his voice playful and teasing.

“It’s some kind of trick,” Anthony says.

Steven hesitates, fingers hovering over the buckles of his breastplate. It does not take long for him to decide. He strips off the armor, laying it carefully by the door and sighs with relief. He straps his sword belt on again, just in case. Anthony is watching him over his shoulder, an unreadable expression playing out on his features. Steven is unable to meet his gaze and instead allows his eyes to feast on the sight of Anthony’s taut backside for a moment.

“So, if he’s not allowed to cut me loose, what exactly are we to do?” Anthony demands of their captor. “I can’t do this for very much longer without tearing something important.”

Seeing the discomfort on his friend’s face, Steven tries again to think of a solution. His heated imagination produces one with no prompting at all. Flushing and now fully erect he banishes the notion. The Sorcerer does not weigh in with a suggestion of his own and so they are both left to sweat and curse.

“Anthony,” he makes himself say, “I could...hold you. Up. Give you a rest.”

There is a tense silence.

“I can think of no better solution. Only, you’ll have to forgive me,” he adds hastily as Steven approaches. “It’s the moment. You understand. Not something I can control.”

Anthony’s cheeks have turned a dusty pink and his eyes are averted. Steven immediately sees the reason. His cock is full and heavy, pointing proudly upward now. Steven’s own biology responds in kind so quickly that it makes the room spin.

He kneels down, concealing his own interest for the moment, and lifts Anthony’s bare feet off the ground, holding them in his hands. The man above him sighs with pleasure, his body sagging in relief.

“Oh dear heaven.”

Steven keeps his face turned away so as not to come in contact with Anthony’s member. He swears, though, that he can feel the heat coming off of him. Certainly, the animal smell of him is intoxicating enough. The heat beating down on them feels oppressive, but perhaps that is only his own frustration.

“What is it you want?!” he yells.

Nothing.

“It’s no good,” Anthony says. He sounds drunk with pleasure and Steven’s cock gives an almighty lurch. “He obviously wants us to wait.”

“I don’t bloody feel like waiting,” Steven responds. “I’m setting you down.”

“Already?” Anthony yelps.

He stands to his full height and pulls the sword from his belt. This time he gives no warning, only strikes at Anthony’s bonds and...nothing happens. There is no noise, no contact, his arm simply keeps moving through the rope and when he looks he is holding only air. Steven’s sword has vanished.

“How…?” he asks, incredulous.

When he turns, Anthony is not looking at his empty hands, but rather at the bulge in his loose pants. Had his armor still been donned it would not have been visible, but now in only his linen breeches he may as well have painted a bright sign advertising his filthy nature. Steven turns away, searching for his sword.

“That was just naughty,” the Sorcerer says. “I did warn you. I’ll return your toy in due course, but of course I wonder what exactly you’ll do now.”

“Damn you,” Steven replies and he isn't talking about his sword.

“Steven.”

He turns. Anthony’s dark eyes are hooded and he gazes at his friend through lashes long enough to be a woman’s.

“Pick me up.”

There is no question in his mind about fulfilling that request. Every muscle in Steven’s body cries out to do so. But, is it a trap? Would the Sorcerer see his desire and entrap them both? It is too hot to think clearly. Steven wipes the sweat from his brow and moves to kneel beside Anthony once more.

“No, not like that,” Anthony says. Steven looks up at him, caught between debilitating desire and paralyzing fear. “Draw my legs around your waist. It will, ah, distribute the weight more evenly.”

Though he knows he should argue, should protest, should do anything except hurry to obey that is precisely what Steven does. The first touch of his fingers on Anthony’s skin seemed to burn all the way through him. He rests both hands on Anthony’s flanks and catches him when the smaller man jumps, drawing his muscular legs around his waist. His cock presses against the dark fold of Anthony’s inner thigh.

“Ah, ye Gods,” Anthony moans, throwing his head back. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“Anthony…” his own voice is unsteady as is all of him. His fingers, so sure on the handle of his blade in battle, are trembling. He wants to say ‘we should not do this’ or ‘everything is wrong here’, but he cannot make himself speak the words. He can only watch as Anthony rubs his member against Steven’s stomach in his relief.

Their eyes meet. Anthony’s expression tells the entire story. Steven draws a breath and catches it in his throat when Anthony deliberately rolls his hips. There is madness in his eyes, but Steven does not care. He reaches out and takes hold of Anthony’s arse, grabbing with both hands and spreading. Possessing. Anthony groaned throatily, thrusting hard against his stomach and, damn him, grinning. That smile is a challenge and Steven never, ever, backs down from one of those. He swings Anthony forward, drawing their bodies together from head to feet and seizes the other man’s mouth in a kiss.

Though he knows it is likely a fantasy, he swears that he hears the Sorcerer sigh in pleasure. Steven kisses his brother-in-arms violently, messily, nothing like how he would kiss a lady and Anthony surrenders utterly. He allows his mouth to be plundered by Steven’s questing tongue, his arse to be spread wide by blunt fingers, and his weeping cock to be ground against the hard muscles of Steven’s stomach.

“Take me,” Anthony groans when they part, “You must.”

“Don’t,” Steven replies, unbuckling his useless sword belt with one hand and casting it aside, “tell me what I must do.”

“Is now really the time to argue? We’ve been so long in coming to this day.”

“Shut up,” he says and kisses Anthony into obedience.

He tugs at his trousers, which refuse to budge, until he realizes that the lacing up the side is still done up. Growling in frustration, Steven frees his hands leaving Anthony to cling to him with the muscles of his thighs, and rakes his fingers along the damnable fastenings. They kiss all the while, wet and hot and miraculous.

With a gasp, Steven sets his cock free where it presses against the hot creases of Anthony’s body. A distant part of him knows he should feel terribly ashamed, horrified by his own actions, embarrassed by the fact that not only has he failed to free his captive friend he is delighting in his bondage. All while a malevolent Sorcerer watches and holds their very freedom in his grasp. But all he feels is Anthony, Anthony, Anthony. The man is the very beating of his heart.

“Inside,” the temptation in question begs with kiss-bitten lips. “Steven, please.”

“I can’t,” he replies instinctively. “I haven’t…”

But then he does. There it is in the pocket of his trousers, slung low on his hips now. A sudden weight that he knows will only be one thing. Whatever the Sorcerer had planned for them when he drew them together in this abandoned cottage, he had come prepared. Steven does not pause to question it, only withdraws the vial of oil and sets to coating his member, sliding it through his glistening fist as his teeth fasten on Anthony’s delectable throat.

He does not do the gentlemanly thing and make preparations, nor does Anthony request them. He merely swipes his greasy fingers across Anthony’s entrance and rearranges them so that his cock is positioned appropriately. He makes himself go slowly, moving at a glacial pace that makes blood sing in his ears. Anthony, damn his eyes, is smiling again.

Slowly, slowly, slowly he presses forward until he is home. Anthony’s breath is harsh in his ear, the dark hairs of his beard tickling Steven’s shoulder. His lips are on the shell of the taller man’s ear and he speaks only a single word: Now.

Steven fucks him. Not even in his most violent imaginings has he fucked someone this way, lifting Anthony’s lithe body into the air and _slamming_ him back down, impaling him with no thought to comfort. By the way he throws that dark head back and screams for more, Anthony does not intend to complain. Within moments he is shouting words of praise, encouragement, and eventually only meaningless syllables punctuating each violent thrust. Steven knows only the feel of Anthony’s body against his, the slide of their bodies together and the ever-tightening spiral of pleasure that coils up inside of him threatening to break him to pieces.

“Anthony, I...am going to…” He manages in a broken voice.

“YES!” Comes the enthusiastic response.

Anthony’s arms wrap tightly around his neck as Steven thrusts once, twice, and his release overtakes him like a crushing ocean wave, swallowing him entirely. He could be crying, screaming, or whispering the sweetest endearments - Steven knows not. All he feels is the white-hot burst of pleasure until it ebbs and he is left panting, holding his fellow knight and feeling the squelch of the man’s seed between them.

“Ye gods,” Anthony sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and then freezes. “Oi, I’m untied.”

Steven glances up and sees on the naked beam with no traces of the former bondage. “So you are.”

He helps Anthony to his feet, mindful of his sore muscles and cautiously feeling out the emotional waters between them. What they’ve just done is a crime, and they both know it. Not only that, but it is an offence against God whose law they have both taken an oath to uphold. Anthony, true to form, appears utterly unruffled.

“Was that your whole intention, then?” he asks the empty room. “Just wanted a free show?”

“We ought to go,” Steven says, straightening his clothes.

“Really?”

He looks up, startled, when Anthony winds his arms around Steven’s waist from behind. “I was thinking perhaps we ought to stay, at least until we’re sure the evil Sorcerer has buggered off.”

“Have you no shame?”

A beat. “No, I do not. I’ve checked.”

Steven laughs helplessly, turning in the smaller man’s arms. Anthony is smiling at him.

“We really are rubbish protectors of the realm.”

“Oh, no doubt.”

There is a somewhat muffled clearing of the throat coming from nowhere in particular, but neither of them notice. They are far too busy. 

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: You guys! I'm officially a published author! Woo! If you want to check out my book you can find it here: https://www.cmrandles.com/books (it's chock full of juicy romance and gay porn, I promise!)


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